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Yarborough Leisure Centre Reception

Wet day miserable

Raining out bare headed people come and go

60ish man in red shirt and black nylon quilted sleeveless jacket

Dark haired girl in glasses walks away, large black bag flopped low over shoulder

Overweight ladies en route to gym, buff coloured sweater and blue parka with pink leggings

Yellow hi viz jacket walks away, grey hair head bowed

Blue grey singlet and two striped shorts heads to gym with water bottle

Woman makes phone call about dog grooming in Nettleham, bloke waits patiently

Gossipping foursome fresh from the pool

Hard core body pumpers, arrive

Silver Ford Fiesta, or simlar

Two bikes chained up, one with blue carrier bag over saddle

Fat bloke buys crap coffee from vending machine

Woman in early forties with dark, wet straggly hair and pink bag for life

Gossipping women, still here, have just stood up

Tracksuited lifeguards leave at end of shift

Man with plastic pot on right foot with crutches

Dog grooming girl now comparing notes on phones with bloke

Radio 1 now noticed, I must go

Rain has stopped

Man stands in middle of car park staring at phone

Is there hope?

Classical coffee at the Blue Room Note after relaxing note his fingers tranced New York 1926, Roosevelt Hotel, Gershwin Moskowski’s Awesome Moustache Martin and Mary (not from Abertillery) Wherever I go in life I have a clock that beats time Should one day it stops working I shall return it to its maker The clockmaker The horseshoe is too small and 12 eagles can’t keep up German Baritone evocative of a bygone age Opportunity to sit and do nothing Left hand drops down the scale Mix of paper and screens Classical music pieces all seem to end in the same way Songs of the mad sea captain Sunk in Cathay, Joiner’s mate, French horn Peter plays a prelude Simple pleasures bring smiles Was the stained glass more vivid when new? Made, maind, mayd, mad Malcolm Arnold Fantasy for Horn Sound the charge, cavalry advance Living on that happy island, a goat in life but real in death Pastel blue and white ceiling with ornate grills Deep growly voice Listening to the scratching of the pen The last note lingers…

Inside the fire emits a warm glow. Flames probe the log placed on top of the coals. The time for sacrifice has come. The log must die.

Through the leaded glass window a dusting of frost is seen on the naked branches outside. Below zero. The water in the birdbath has frozen solid. The only place to be is in the nest. My front room.

A winter rose appears. Out of nowhere but it must have been there a while. Pink and yellow dusted in the same white frost. It’s a miracle.

Light gradually fails and gloom mutates into darkness. I look up, hearing only the fire. The front door opens.

Activity returns to the house. The sound of pots and pans and cupboard doors. An occasional happy whistle.

We are comfortable in our nest. Curtains closed on the rest of the world, the radio company for Anne in the kitchen.

Hot food appears on the table, conversation resumes, contentment continues…

It is with a heavy heart that I announce the loss of the notes I had been making in preparation for this post. I had been spontaneously scribbling thoughts down on a piece of hotel notepaper, capturing the atmosphere and sounds of the beach as they happened.

You would have felt as if you were there, the sun on your face with the sounds of racing longtail boats a short distance away, sharing with me the joy of snorkelling alongside exotic yellow tailed fish in the warm blue waters of the Andaman Sea.

I do have plenty of inspirational photographs and videos to which I could refer. You did not need to know that my notes were lost. I feel however that this is an issue of creative integrity. I would have known and I would have known that the piece is not what it could have been. The sound of the American singer in the bar as we drank chilled bottles of Singha beer would not have felt the same.

The visions of coconuts washed ashore on the palm fringed pristine white sands will have to be left to the colourful travel brochures and exotic magazines of your dentist’s waiting room. Ditto the fresh barbecued fish, the satay skewers and the newly tapped coconut juice.

The hotel pool, long guarded by early rising tourists, was a sanctuary when the sweaty heat of the day called for a retreat. The visions of us sipping exotic cocktails in the shade of the wet bar will unfortunately have to remain firmly in the recesses of your own imagination.

I will leave you now, subdued and resigned to never writing the post. It is time to move on…

Notes from the home country upon return from the Orient

We land back in UK to a feeling of a divided country in turmoil before the start of a war. The ground is appropriately frozen and inhospitable. Parliament is in a frenzy with nobody being able to agree on the best course of action. Stockpiling of food and medicines. Bunkering down. Kids being sent to stay with relatives in the country. Talk about the reserve being called up – soldiers on standby to patrol the streets? Anticipation of huge congestion at channel terminals. Lorries back up from the coast to the M25 London circular. Late nights watching events unfold on tv. Those who can secure the escape route provided by an Irish passport. Commerce flees to Europe. There is no Plan B. The world looks on in disbelief.

palm fronds shift listlessly in the light breeze

grass grows underfoot

motionless Gardener occasionally changes direction of hosepipe

crisp white waiter moves silently between tables

occasional splash from pool reminds me that volume is on

straw hat tossed carelessly falls on floor

a flash of colour, birdsong

wake up to no change

empty tennis court

long, slow breathing

pagoda

strawberry and banana ice cream with jasmine green tea

banana leaves collect dripping condensation

Back on the oriental slow boat. Sleep is a plentiful commodity. Red flowers contrast with variegated greenery. Luxury living at a bygone pace. Tomorrow we move on to Krabi. THis is not without excitement as tropical storm Pabuk is currently battering the area.

Someone just flicked a switch. I jolt to some loud funky music. I don’t mind. It’s just different. Probably good not to be soporific all afternoon. Will give the pool a miss and perhaps take a shower before heading to the spa with Anne for a his and hers foot massage. A plane passes noisily over head. The palm fronds have stopped moving.